


Dance Naked

by Missy



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Longing, Masturbation, Mid-Canon, Public Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1422244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia is beguiled by Misty, and Misty seems to be oblivious - or is she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Naked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle, prompt: American Horror Story: Coven, Cordelia Foxx/Misty Day, spin, lace, midnight

Before Codelia laid eyes on Misty Day, she knew just what the girl looked like. A long, straight plank of a body draped in lace and cotton print, with moonlit skin and pale blond hair and a dazed, dreamy look in her eye. Aunt Myrtle had spoken often of her while she raised up her charge, using Misty’s youthful folly as a warning tactic to keep the young witch well-behaved. It was a tradition Cordelia herself passed along to her own wide-eyed, disbelieving girls, now that she was grown. 

The real, forthright Misty belies her ethereal looks. The person under the porcelain skin spits fire, is earthy, rooted right down to the tips of her toes in the warm living soil of the Louisiana swamps. She appreciates the tiny luxuries of life while trying to help straighten out the mess the coven has become, and for that alone Cordelia appreciates her presence. 

They’ve known one another for barely a week, but Misty’s been hanging around the greenhouse, getting into the plants, healing them without potions or spells. Cordelia teaches her an easier way, and Misty adapts with enthusiasm and grace.

She doesn’t ask questions, another fact that pleases Cordelia. 

**** 

Aunt Myrtle finds a way. She always does. Suddenly Cordelia has her vision once more, and she sees out of two eyes of opposing color. 

What surprises her most is the vivid shine of radiance hidden in the morning sunlight, the eerie shimmer of mist rising up off of the swamps, and the cold ivory glow of the academy’s walls. Things that Cordelia’s seen often in her thirty plus years, but things that didn’t mean much to her until she couldn’t see them anymore.

Misty brings her tea and records, and they spend afternoons strengthening their magic, growing healing herbs. Sometimes Cordelia catches herself watching the girl as she works, when the sun’s setting and the light sets off her curls. That ethereal magic her Aunt Myrtle told her about shines in the girl’s face. Misty looks the way Codelia imagined she would, though she doesn’t act like a tragic, wan beauty at all. She’s Misty slugging coffee and squirreling away croissants for the impending apocalypse. Misty draped in fringe and shawls, playing Bella Donna over and over again until Madison shouts invective and Cordelia intervenes. Misty as a shimmering sylph out in the moonlight, alone in the midnight hour, dancing nude but for a bell-coated anklet on her balcony, jingling as she spins and spins and spins, her eyes pressed tightly closed. 

Cordelia doesn’t mean to make watching her a nightly routine, but it’s a habit she’s fallen into, a comforting nighttime routine. The girl must be watched over, she convinces herself – there are witch hunters everywhere. Misty might die if she doesn’t keep up her vigilance, and so it continues. 

Cordelia moans, squeezes her thighs together and feels the pulse of an acme that had only been hinted at during her years of marriage to Hank. Her shaky hand slips up her belly, rubs itself dry against the material of her nightgown and she walks away and into the dark peacefulness of her bedroom. Duty still takes precedence over desire, and morning always dawns early at the Academy.

*** 

She leans against the wall and listens to the girls nervously scramble across the floor, complaining about the blood and the effort expended. They toss the Axeman’s body into the furnace and scrub up before assembling in the drawing room. 

Myrtle plays her theremin and they sit around in heaps, unsure, giddy with bloodlust. It almost feels like a real family when they assemble this way, and Delia can picture them without seeing their faces – Madison, bored, draped across Fiona’s couch; Zoe huddled with Kyle on the settee; Queenie, always so alone and stuck in her own anger, sitting in Nan’s chair and watching them all, her arms crossed over her chest.

Cordelia feels the humidity of Misty’s skin press against her belly and knows the heat of her shell-colored lips when they press against her ear. A flood of images pass through her brain; two sets of pale limbs tangled under a dark counterpane; hungry tongues flickering; two soft, sodden sets of lips rubbing together; the ecstatic pulse of release.

“Honey, you don’t need to watch out for them no more,” sang Misty’s voice. “Come on upstairs with me tonight.”

Cordelia smiles. A thin, tiny smile, but a winning one nonetheless. 

The two women drift up and away together, where tomorrow – and even the Supremehood – lies sprawled out before them in the dim, unseen future.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **American Horror Story: Coven** , all of whom are the property of **FX Network**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
